Miracle Nuggets

 I had finally arrived at the last stop. The final instant when everything becomes calm because you have no energy left to fear the unknown. I was about to die and had already made peace with the thought of leaving this plane of existence. I was ready to go.

Any second now…. 

The thought of my body being carried through town, slumped against the window in the back of train-car #6, made me proud in a strange morbid way. "Did you hear about Aaron? Yeah, supposedly he died in Long beach, caught a bus to Oregon then finally made his way to Canada." It would be hours before anyone realized I no more.

No, I'm not sleeping, I'm dead...because I didn't eat enough food.

Death by starvation. It was my fault really. I believed I could eat lunch at noon and make the journey home after work without eating again. How stupid of me! More than six hours had passed since then, and now I was going to pay the ultimate price. As I closed my eyes for the last time the steady hum of the train's engine turned into the blaring roar of trumpets that escorted me into the darkness. The jarring bumps and sways of the train were the last violent pangs of a soul leaving its shell.

Suddenly, a sound pierced the darkness; the sharp crackle of thin plastic. I had to see it. It called to me, beckoned saying, “You don't want to go yet, not without seeing what I have to offer." I had a reason to continue. The sound of buckling plastic enticed the ghost back into its shell. With a Herculean effort, I opened my eyes. There, beneath the cold metal seat directly to my right lay a plastic bag of what appeared to be delicious chicken nuggets. Miracle Nuggets! 

How can this be? Had God taken pity on me and decided to preserve my life? Had he reached down and plucked a chicken from his personal coop and with a wave his hand turned said chicken into perfectly formed nuggets that he then tossed into a pan of hot oil until they were covered in a crispy, golden crust? Did he place them ever-so-gently in a Ziploc bag and hand them to Gabrielle saying "Here, go put these under the seat next to Aaron, he'll know what to do." Or had I woken up to find myself in some sort of hell? A hell where the pain of hunger can only be assuaged by food you find on the floors of a metro train.

In everyone else's world those nuggets fell out of someone's lunch bag; perfectly safe and ready to be eaten. However, in my world they were left intentionally by the same person that puts razors in apples. This person stands in their kitchen preparing what appears to be delicious, life-sustaining nuggets, however upon completion of these nuggets, they immediately dip them in baseball-stadium-urine or substitute the main ingredient [chicken] with feces. 

At this point my body had resorted to eating itself and was now burning a hole through the lining of my stomach, making its way to my organs.

I began to panic.

Shit nuggets or death?  

I didn't want to die but could I really bring myself to consume this mysterious food? They were, after all, sealed in an "air-tight" plastic bag safe from the germs found underneath the seat of a train that goes through Compton. It's not like the germs in Compton are worse than other germs. It's not like they're more likely to ask you for "twenny-fi cent." 

I made my decision. I needed a closer look. I peeked over my shoulder, only one other patron in the car with me and she was asleep, or dead. Perfect. Like a feral cat, I quickly transferred to the seat directly above the nuggets. So far, no trap had been sprung; no fiendish tool of the devil had been set in motion to destroy me. I kept my head lifted as I reached under the seat and felt around for the bag. I found it...it was still warm. I couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. Either way, I lifted them onto my lap. 

There they were: four, perfect, warm…chicken (?)…nuggets. My visual inspection revealed nothing. They appeared to be free of any noticeable fungus, disease or radioactivity. I couldn't rule out the presence of glass underneath the flaky brown crust but I was desperate. I took a deep breath and opened the bag. The "Zip" that sealed the bag separated easily and surrendered the unmistakable aroma of chicken, of spices, of happiness, of a life continued.

"Wear a condom kids!"

I jumped, nearly dropping my nuggets. I whipped my head toward the back of the train. She wasn't dead and she was staring right at me, accusingly. Fearful, I thought that maybe I had stumbled across her nuggets. Suddenly, she tilted her head back and began laughing hysterically. "Jamal," she shouted "Yeah Jamal, he do me wrong. I already know." She laughed again and quickly stopped. "I already been knowin’. Yeah, so I got him." She turned and looked out the window. " I cut him," she chuckled to herself. "I cut that motha fucka and put him inside. Tiny little pieces of Jamal," she said with her voice going up in pitch. "And I left his ass. Left his ass on the train." Slowly, she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes once again; lips curled into a slight smile.

OH MY GOD!

She killed Jamal and put him in the nuggets. These weren't chicken nuggets, they were people nuggets; they were Jamal nuggets!! I stared down at the four-piece Jamal meal in horror.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're sorry for the inconvenience but the train is experiencing electrical problems. We ask that all patrons please exit the train at the current stop. Another train will arrive in five to ten minutes to take you to your destination. Thank you." I hadn't even realized the train had stopped. Quickly, I lifted my bag and exited the train. 

It was a warm night and there were few stars in the sky. As the other riders exited the train from different cars I looked down the tracks. Nothing like Compton at night.

"Scuse me sir. Sir!"

I turned to face a man quickly approaching me form the left.  

"Ay, you got twenny-fi cent I could borrow?"  

I stared blankly for a moment before realizing what was being asked of me.

“Naw, bro” I answered. “My bad, though."

“Damn!" he shouted, looking over his shoulder. "You got socks?"  

I look down at his feet. "Socks?"  

"Yeah, you got socks I could use?"  

"Ugh..."  

"SHIT! What the hell I'ma do?" he asks looking up and down the tracks. "You got snacks?"  

"Snacks?"  

"Yeah, you got Ritz Bitz?"

"Naw, bro."

“You got a Fruit Rollup?" I shake my head. I feel bad. While I question the nutritional value of the snacks he’s looking for it’s apparent he’s hungry. Suddenly I remember the plastic bag in my hand. In my eagerness to escape the chef I had forgotten that I’d brought the nuggets with me. I look down at what’s left of Jamal and think for a moment.  

It’s the right thing to do. With confidence and slight smile across my face I hand him the nuggets. 

"Ah Hell yeah, good lookin' out!" He quickly takes the bag from me, unzips it, grabs a nugget and puts the whole thing in his mouth. He chews for a moment nodding profusely. He allows himself a moment to taste the herbs and spices then punctuates his satisfaction with a single “Yup.” 

I too am satisfied with this response. Nonchalantly, he reaches out with his fist and without a moment’s hesitation I lift mine and we connect. Silently he turns and runs down the train platform and into the street, pulling up his pants with every step.

As the man slowly disappears into the night a slight wind picks up and blows across my face. I turn and look down the tracks for any sign of the train. Good lookin' out Aaron. Good lookin' out.